Side to side
by Wolke
Summary: Marcus had it all planned out. He was going to be selected for the Quidditch team in second year, become captain in his third year and win the cup every year from then on. But then Marcus' mother decides to remarry and with the new husband comes a daughter who turns his life upside down.


p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 200%;" align="center"em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"span lang="EN-US"Chapter 1/span/em/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US"Even his second look confirmed what he already knew. She wasn't much to look at. There was simply too much of her. Too much hair, too much mouth, just, well, too much. Marcus shifted on his chair. There was a reason why they were never in the salon. It was cold, the fire in the fireplace not quite managing to heat up the room. The windows were old, Marcus could feel a draft coming from somewhere and whichever way he shifted there was just no escape from it. He sighed and focused again on the girl opposite him. If you ignored her mouth, it was actually an okay face. He hadn't decided yet whether she had freckles or spots as she wasn't quite close enough to be sure. Her nose was slightly pointy, but what made the face halfway decent were definitely the eyes. Big enough to stand out (even with that mouth to compete with) and of a nice, as far as he could tell, green /spanspan lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"colour/spanspan lang="EN-US". Marcus shifted again and decided to focus on her eyes. Not the mouth. Not the freckles. And definitely not the hair. Too curly. Too muddy of a colour. Too much. If he focused on her eyes he wouldn't have to look at him. That tall man with the same green eyes and muddy hair. That tall man that everyone changed to the other side of the road for. That tall man who was going to marry his mum. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US"Marcus did not mind not having a dad. Yeah, maybe a twelve year old should have a father figure in his life but he had uncles and older cousins and older friends. He quickly focused back onto her eyes. Stepsister. He tried out the sound in his mind. He hadn't said anything yet but he knew the questions would start soon. Too long they had been sitting here and even his mum would run out of things to say. She, his stepsister, had not said anything yet either. He wondered if her voice would be too much also. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US"Marcus had not really been told what had happened, but when he was eight, his dad didn't come home. He knew that his mum had always hated his father's job. Collecting artifacts for one of the biggest auction houses in the country. And one day one of the artifacts he was collecting decided to blow up in his face. Or at least that's what his uncle told him after a few too many drinks. Work accident. Working for the auction house whose owner with the green eyes and muddy brown hair now sat opposite him. It wasn't like his dad had needed to work with the millions and millions his mum had inherited from her great uncle. Millions and millions that came with his mum, millions and millions that would now be added to the fortune of the man with the green eyes and muddy brown hair. Work accident. These things happened. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US"Marcus shifted again and refocused. Her eyes were kinder. She was his age. He assumed he must have seen her before at Hogwarts. His first year and the first half of the second had been a bit of a blur, all his attention was on playing Quidditch. Becoming the best in order to be picked for the team in the summer term. She was in Slytherin. He seemed to remember that she finished top of the year. Seemed to remember Dumbledore calling out her name and awarding extra house points. Tallulah. He could feel his lips pursing and forced himself to stop. The name was just too much. He briefly wondered if she had a different name at first but then her parents saw her grow up and decided that a girl who looks too much should have a name that was, frankly, too much. Her mum was long gone. Battling some sort of illness that finally won 3 years ago. He couldn't remember what it was, only that it was of the Muggle kind and there had been some murmurs that she could have been saved had green eyes muddy brown hair sent for a Muggle doctor. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US"span style="mso-spacerun: yes;" /span"August is just great, don't you think so too Marcus?"/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US"For a second Marcus wasn't sure who had spoken, but only for a second, and he quickly answered "Of course mother." He added a weak smile and his mother seemed satisfied. Marcus shifted once more and refocused on the eyes. His stepsister, Tallulah, had a vacant expression on her face. He wondered if his face was the same. "Why don't you show Tallulah the garden?" He couldn't help but sigh audibly. "But mother it's December. Nothing is growing." His mum smiled uncomfortably, clearly willing him to just agree. "I'd love to see the garden." Marcus' neck snapped round. The girl who was too much had a voice that was too little. Soft and quiet, but he could feel the strength behind it. Shrugging his shoulders, Marcus got up and made for the door, relying on her- his stepsister – Tallulah – to follow him./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US"Nothing was growing. Marcus wasn't sure what he was meant to do out here with Tallulah. He kicked a stone, desperate for something to do and sighed. It wasn't fair of his mum to expect him to entertain a girl. He doubted that she'd want to race down to the lake and throw stones into the water. Doubted that she'd want to go to the big stone right at the back, lift it up and poke the insects living under it. And she would definitely not want to play some Quidditch. Marcus turned to her to ask if she'd want to go and feed the squirrels. For a second he thought that she hadn't followed him outside but then he saw her sitting on a bench by the garden shed. Awkwardly he sat down next to her, not really sure where to from here. He sighed. Marcus was not a stupid child. He knew that his mum was under a lot of pressure. Not being married was some social stigma that he didn't quite understand and he knew that she would be heartbroken if him not getting along with his new stepsister would be the reason for all of this not working out. But he was only twelve. And without the slightest idea what a girl his age might want to talk about./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US""So, you like school?" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US"Again, he wasn't quite prepared for the tone of her voice. He took some time to think about her question. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US""Suppose so. Not really into the lesson part of it but the Quidditch is alright." /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US""I've seen you fly in lessons. You were really good at it."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US"Marcus couldn't remember them being in the same lesson. Ever. He decided to go with it anyway./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US""Thank you. You weren't bad either?" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US"He didn't quite manage not turning it into a question./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US""I couldn't even get the broom up. Madame Hooch let me read after trying for half an hour." /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US"He furrowed his brows. Was he really that oblivious to everything that wasn't Quidditch related?/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US""So you like books?" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US"For the first time today, she really seemed to look at him. Marcus had a feeling that his answer would be deciding. Not quite sure deciding what, but deciding regardless. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US""Not really."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US"Now it was Tallulah's turn to sigh. And then, to Marcus' surprise, she smiled. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US""Well isn't this all just peachy. You don't have to sit with me you know. I know that you'd rather be anywhere else but here. Just show me the library and I'll be out of your way."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US"Marcus regarded her, not sure whether she was being serious or not. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US""It's okay. I don't mind. I mean, well, if we are going to be family, we might as well get to know each other?" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US""Family? Marcus, our parents getting married does not mean that we have to be friends all of a sudden. Being a family does not mean that you have to get along. Being a family means you live together and try your best not to run into each other too often."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"span lang="EN-US"Marcus was just about to answer when he caught her gaze. Watery green eyes looked straight at him. It was the same look his younger cousin had when they found her bunny half eaten by a fox. It was the same look that Gryffindor girl had when he threw her off her broom. It was the same look his mum had when she told him that dad wasn't going to come home. It was a look that was despair and hurt and anger all at the same time. It was a look that Marcus wasn't old enough yet to deal with. "The library is just past the kitchen." He got up. "You coming?" And again he walked off, counting on Tallulah to follow after him./span /p 


End file.
